


Stray

by Miss M (missm)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Javert Survives, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:39:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4089004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm/pseuds/Miss%20M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He glanced over to the fireside, where Valjean was lost in a book. Ever since the cat's arrival, he had taken to sprawl on the floor next to it while reading, instead of sitting in his chair as befitted a man his age. Lounging like that, on his side so he could turn the pages with one hand while using the other to rub the cat's belly -- it was undignified, Javert thought, pursing his mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stray

**Author's Note:**

  * For [icicaille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icicaille/gifts).



> Written for the following prompt: "somehow they adopt a cat (Valjean sees a stray and brings it home?) and Javert finds himself getting a liiiiittle jealous of how much attention Valjean is paying to it." Thanks so much to E for the encouragement!

If only, Javert thought in bitter annoyance, if only Valjean had not given the animal a _name_.

Although to be fair, it had been his daughter's suggestion. Agnès! What a ridiculous thing to name a cat. If it was true that this girl had been such a good friend of Cosette's at the convent, then surely she would not have taken kindly to sharing a name with a four-legged creature, good for nothing but leaving hair all over their clothing and constantly trying to get into their stores of milk.

He glanced over to the fireside, where Valjean was lost in a book. Ever since the cat's arrival, he had taken to sprawl on the floor next to it while reading, instead of sitting in his chair as befitted a man his age. Lounging like that, on his side so he could turn the pages with one hand while using the other to rub the cat's belly -- it was undignified, Javert thought, pursing his mouth. 

Agnès! Ha.

The page of his own book rustled as he turned it, and he noted with some satisfaction that the sound caused the cat to give a start. Valjean glanced in his direction; Javert pretended not to notice. He stared at the letters in determined concentration. Reading still did not give him the pleasure it did Valjean, but at least Balzac's latest account of human folly provided some distraction from the fact that he had found scratch marks on his greatcoat earlier that morning.

Eugénie Grandet. What a name. Almost as ridiculous as Agnès. 

 

*

 

The room was light enough to let him know it was early morning. Half-awake, he buried closer to Valjean, sliding an arm around his waist. This was home, he thought sleepily, breathing in the scent of Valjean's hair. This was where he belonged, strange as it was, all things considered. What a wonder and what a gift, to be allowed into Valjean's bed, to hold him close, to be able to idly run a hand down his stomach...

The sharp sting on the back of his hand jolted him fully awake. He pulled back with a yelp, rousing Valjean, who blinked sleepily. 

"Javert? What's the matter?" His face softened in a smile as he glanced down towards his stomach. "Agnès, did you scratch him? You naughty puss..." 

The cat miaowed, then relocated to the foot of the bed, curling up next to Valjean's feet -- looking thoroughly smug, Javert thought.

He gritted his teeth. "I thought we had agreed that the cat should stay outside at night."

"I did let her out, but I must have left a window open." Valjean sat up in bed, reaching to scratch the cat behind the ears. "Perhaps she was cold, poor thing." 

"Cold? It's summer! And they have fur." Javert folded his arms over his chest, feeling ridiculous and furious with himself for it. "Cats should be outside at all times, if you ask me. That's where their prey is."

"Oh, she's already outside most of the time. Such a good huntress, our little Agnès," Valjean cooed, the cat rubbing its head vigorously against his hand. "Aren't you such a good little huntress, bringing us gifts in the morning..." 

The reminder did nothing to lighten Javert's mood. "If I find one more dead mouse in my boot, it is over," he said crossly. "No more spending the nights here. Not on my part."

Valjean frowned, looking genuinely unhappy for a second, enough for Javert to feel a sharp pang of guilt. He had sworn to himself that never again would he cause Jean Valjean unhappiness if he could help it -- was such a small thing worth making a fuss over? 

"Not when it's cold outside, at least," he muttered, annoyed with himself for giving ground, yet foolishly happy when Valjean smiled and touched his cheek. Well, but he had yet to examine his boots for the day. 

 

*

 

When Javert returned after work that evening, Valjean was out, not yet home from one of his walks. The night was warm, so Javert sat down on the bench in the garden. He took off his hat and placed it next to him, stretching out his legs. 

It was on such a night the cat had first appeared, he remembered. Valjean had been tending to one of the vegetable plots Cosette had convinced him to make, and Javert had kept him company, not yet trusting himself to take part in the work and risk ruining anything fragile. Valjean had been on his knees in the soil, gently and neatly uprooting the weeds, when he suddenly made a displeased sound. 

"What's the matter?" Javert asked, getting to his feet. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Valjean shook his head. "No, no." He grimaced, wiping his hand on the grass next to him. "But it seems we have had a guest of sorts. I was unfortunate enough to plant my hand in their offerings."

"A guest?" Javert was slightly alarmed.

He was just about to ask Valjean to elaborate when Valjean surprisingly broke into a smile, staring at something past Javert's knees. "Puss!" he called softly. "Puss, puss, here."

Javert turned and caught sight of a grey shadow vanishing behind a bush. "A cat?" Turning back, he shook his head. "Well then, nothing to worry about." 

"I think I've seen it before," Valjean mused, still staring in the direction of the cat. "I wonder if it didn't follow me last night when I returned from the Marais." 

"It will be gone soon enough, I expect," Javert said, contemplating a smudge of dirt on Valjean's cheekbone. Giving into temptation, he crouched down to wipe it away. "As long as you don't attract any other unwanted visitors." 

Valjean kissed his thumb. His eyes were warm, and Javert felt as if his heart were creaking with all of the emotions that were still so new to it. He put his hands around Valjean's face and repaid the kiss with interest, and soon enough all thoughts of other visitors, unwanted or not, were completely forgotten.

Yes, Javert thought now, smiling humourlessly, he had not expected this particular visitor to return. But the cat had come back, night after night, until Valjean had started putting out scraps of meat for it, until Cosette had visited and decided to name it. And now the creature had taken possession of not only the shack, but of Valjean's lap, his smiles, even his bed -- no, _their_ bed, Javert thought resentfully. He still spent most nights here, after all. 

He sighed, rubbing at his forehead. By all reasonable standards, it seemed a small thing. And he certainly had no cause to complain, having been little more than a pitiful stray himself when Valjean had first shown him mercy. If Valjean wanted to take in a hundred cats, that was his right -- and if it brought him pleasure to do so, then Javert should be pleased as well. So why was he not?

Being honest with himself, he could admit that he was greedy. He who had always taken such pride in his own austerity, in his own ability to do without, now found himself greedy for Valjean's affections, jealously guarding every smile, every touch, every gentle word. To share those things with another, even if it was merely a dumb beast... It disturbed him, it annoyed him, and he could no longer pretend otherwise.

"There you are!" he said to himself, laughing in despair at his own ridiculousness. "You fool, you selfish fool. Would you deny him even this small joy? If you cannot handle this, just wait until the grandchildren come. Dear Lord," he muttered, running his hands through his whiskers, for the realisation made him shudder. "I _am_ a wretch." 

The sudden touch to his side made him jump. He turned, scowling, to find the cat sitting next to him on the bench. Green eyes blinked calmly: once, twice. Javert frowned.

"Speak of the devil," he muttered. "Well, there is no getting rid of you, it seems." 

The cat ignored him, starting to lick its front paw vigorously, then wiping at its own face. Javert grudgingly had to admit there was a certain meticulousness to its movements. Moreover, there was a soft sheen to the grey fur that Javert could not remember having noticed before. 

Then again, what creature could fail to thrive under Jean Valjean's caring hands? 

"Perhaps we are not so different, you and I," he mused into the air. "Wretches, the both of us. He offered us friendship when we did not deserve it. And he seems to find a certain pleasure in our company, though Heaven knows why."

Then he came to his senses and snorted. Talking like this to an animal! Perhaps he was going mad. 

But he could not help being reluctantly moved by how the cat was now sitting calmly next to him, seemingly completely at ease, as if trusting Javert not to hurt it. The irony was not lost on him, and so he reached out tentatively, dragging a finger down the animal's head to scratch behind the ears the way he had seen Valjean do. 

The cat kept still, neither leaning into the touch or pulling away. Emboldened, Javert stroked along the furry back. The cat allowed it, and when again he raised his hand to scratch that place behind the ears, he was rewarded with the softest of purrs. 

"Well!" he said, taken aback. Inappropriately, he was reminded of the first times he and Valjean had been in bed together, of how he had tried to gauge Valjean's reactions, to coax forth a moan or a sigh. He shook his head, then reached out to scratch the cat again. Another soft purr, and this time she butted her head against his hand. Despite himself, Javert had to smile. Who would have thought?

Then, in the blink of an eye, it was over. She shook herself, jumped down from the bench and disappeared in a nearby shrubbery. Javert was alone once more, and now the sun was setting, the birds were falling silent, and Valjean would return any moment. 

Indeed, there was the sound of his steps approaching behind the trees. Javert rose and went to greet him. The smile on Valjean's face was all for him, and he allowed himself to savour it and to respond in turn, to kiss him for several long moments, to wind his arms about him and hold him close. 

"Are you cold?" Valjean asked, withdrawing a little. "We could go inside, if you like." 

"Not cold, no. But let's go inside anyway." He kissed Valjean again, raising a hand to stroke his face. Cat or no cat, if he were capable of gentleness he owed it all to Valjean. "We can leave the window open; I'm sure I will not mind."


End file.
